


I Love You Enough To Let You Go

by imfallingforyoureyes102



Series: We Mend Each Other [6]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Arrow - Fandom, Green Arrow (Comics)
Genre: Abuse, Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Heartwarming, Hurt Felicity Smoak, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Oliver Queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 04:09:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20594471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imfallingforyoureyes102/pseuds/imfallingforyoureyes102
Summary: “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just here, buying groceries, same as you. Although maybe you don’t need this,” he picks the remaining ice cream tub out of her hand, and Felicity flinches when his finger brushes against her skin. She’s shaking so hard that she has to clasp her hands together, her fingers clawing into her skin enough to draw blood.“Wha – what are you doing here?”(Or, Felicity's abusive ex-boyfriend appears in Starling and Felicity can't help but feel the walls closing in on her inch by inch. She wants to tell Oliver - sheneedsto  - but then she sees him with Laurel and he'shappyand she can't bear to put yet another burden on his shoulders. So she deals with it by herself, until one day she can't, and she's spiraling down, down, down until there's nothing left of her.)





	I Love You Enough To Let You Go

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends, I'm in a rush, but I hope this is okay! Thank you so much to all of you guys for your constant support and for bearing with me with my lack of posting this summer. The summer camp and my time as a counselor was AMAZING. I'm so happy and fulfilled and gahhh. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, but it's also probably one of the most rewarding things too.
> 
> Now, back to the real world. :)
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy - sorry if it's not quite good, I'm getting my sea legs back.
> 
> Love you all!

Felicity likes to think she’s a fairly emotionally stable person. Sure, her babbling often ends in her falling victim to horrendous, vile embarrassment more often than not. But other than that, she likes to think she does a good job at balancing all the crazy in her life.

And with her night job, crazy is inevitable.

Which is why she’s caught off guard when her ex-boyfriend comes into town. She had dated him for almost a year after Cooper had gone to prison. She had fallen for his charm and his charisma.

She had loved him, at one point, she thinks.

She had also been beaten black and blue late one night and that’s the moment she’s always defined as the divider between her before and after.

Felicity runs into him at the grocery store.

She’s in the freezer section, trying to decide between two different brands of mint chip. Her giant MIT sweatpants are keeping the cool air from the freezer from reaching her legs, but the sweater she’s wearing is thin and she tries to back away from the open door a bit.

It’s then she hits something firm, and there’s an apologetic smile slipping onto her face when she turns.

Her ice cream hits the floor as blue eyes meet gold, and suddenly she can’t breathe. 

“Felicity Smoak.”

She wants to gag – she wants to run. Felicity’s breathing is almost non-existent as she stares at the man that had once had her begging for her life. She doesn’t know exactly what is going on, just that she’s trembling and not because of the cold.

“James.”

The name tastes like smoke.

He smiles then, his thin lips curling up. It looks more like a sneer than anything else, and it’s the way his eyes drag up and down the length of her body that has her backing up into the freezer.

“Still eating that shit, I see.”

Felicity stares.

“What, have you gone mute?”

“What are you doing here?

“Relax, sweetheart. I’m just here, buying groceries, same as you. Although maybe you don’t need this,” he picks the remaining ice cream tub out of her hand, and Felicity flinches when his finger brushes against her skin.

She’s shaking so hard that she has to clasp her hands together, her fingers clawing into her skin enough to draw blood.

“Wha – what are you doing here?”

He takes a step forward.

She takes a step back.

The motions repeat, except this time her back hits the freezer door. She squeezes her eyes shut as his and comes up to her face, a squeak escaping her lips as he brushes as piece of hair behind her ear.

“See you around, Barbie.”

His breath is warm against her face and he lingers for a second, his finger grazing the edge of her face.

When Felicity opens her eyes, he’s gone. 

***

Felicity doesn’t sleep that night. She doesn’t really do much of anything. It’s the weekend, and Oliver and Digg are both doing their own thing. And while she had been looking forward for a few nights off from their night job, she now craves the distraction in often provides her.

It’s only when Monday comes around that she starts to feel a bit more human, and when the three of them are huddled in the Foundry late that night, she finally musters up enough courage to tell Oliver.

She’s got her hand on his shoulder, her mouth open and mind racing.

A phone rings, then, and it’s Lance begging the Arrow for his help.

“Shooting at CNRI,” Oliver growls, his eyes darkening as he grabs his arrow. “Laurel’s inside.”

Felicity tries not to feel hurt as he slips away from under her touch without so much as a look. She knows Laurel’s in danger – knows her problem can wait.

It still feels like a thousand knives flying into her chest as he watches him walk away.

***

She decides not to say anything after that night.

James hasn’t made any indication that he was going to hurt her. Hell, Felicity doesn’t even know if he is still in the area. She knows she can run a search on him, but the more she spends time thinking about that, the more she starts remembering everything and it’s her racing heart and trembling hands that stop her from doing anything.

But then she runs into him again. She’s putting gas into her car one night when she feels a shiver run through her body, and when she looks up, it’s to see his massive form leaning against his car.

He’s staring right at her.

She’s shoving the pump back into the canister within seconds, her heart dancing wildly in her chest as he stalks his way over to her. Her coat gets caught on the latch, and she’s trembling so hard that her vision is blurring. Felicity doesn’t know how, but she makes it into her car, her fingers hitting the lock button just as James tries to open the door.

It’s then she looks at him in the eyes. He smiles, his grin widening when he realizes the door is locked. He leans back, then, staring at her for a while before shaking his head and walking back to his car.

Felicity takes off before he has a chance to follow her.

She calls Oliver that night – or tries too. She’s so shaken up by everything that she accidentally dials the wrong number, and by the time she’s able to focus, she’s already convincing herself against putting yet another issue on Oliver’s shoulders.

He has his own life, she rationalizes. He has Thea and his mother and Laurel. And yeah, she’s there for him – of course she is. She loves him. She’s loved him for a while now.

But to him, she’s just a friend. Friends are there for friends, but only so much. She can’t burden him with this – not when he finally seems to be doing better.

And Digg. Digg has his own issues with Lyla and his brother. There is no way she’s going to lay a bunch of stupid drama in his arms just because she’s feeling a little distraught.

No.

She got through this by herself before. She can do it again.

***

Felicity isn’t doing so well by the time Monday rolls around again. She can’t sleep, can’t eat – hell, she can barely breathe. She keeps waiting for James to show up at her house and it’s only the extensive searches and algorithms that she set up to monitor her building have has her slightly at ease.

Her mind is everywhere but at the office, and when she looks up from her hands, it’s to see Oliver’s eyes fixed on her through the glass wall of his office. His head is tilted in question, and he’s up and out of his chair within seconds. His gaze is intense, and Felicity welcomes the way her heart skips a beat because it feels so much better than the constant and frantic pounding rhythm it had gotten accustomed to.

But then the elevator doors ding open, and Laurel Lance walks in.

She sees it then, the spark of light in Oliver’s eyes as he watches Laurel quietly make her way into his office. She walks right up to his desk, setting down a coffee cup carrier and a small bag of pastries, and the easy conversation that the two fall into has Felicity turning away.

She knows that she shouldn’t be hurt by the interaction, and she isn’t. Not really.

She’s just sad.

And for a second, her mind is far away from James and her past life. Instead, it’s here, in the office, with Oliver and Laurel and her overactive mind.

She wants to hit herself for thinking that maybe, _maybe_ Oliver could feel something for her. She had written any thought of that off when they had first started working together. But lately he had been different. Softer, almost. He’d touch her – a hand on her shoulder, a squeeze of her arm – and the way he would sometimes smile, a half tilt of his lip and a crinkle by his eyes – made her think that there was _something _there. He’d linger far after Digg had left just to hear her go on and on about some facet of her day.

But now Laurel’s here, laughing over pastries with Oliver, and while she knows Oliver would never purposely lead her on, she can’t help but think that maybe he was just like that towards her because his life was happier.

With Laurel.

Her heart clenches as she watches the two, and even though Laurel’s holding steady on her stance that her and Oliver are just _friends_, Felicity can see the way he looks at her.

She’s always wondered what it would be like to be on the end of that gaze. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she heaves out a sigh from deep in her chest. She’s not Laurel Lance. She knows that. She’s just Felicity – the girl whose brain runs so fast her words skip over each other. The girl who thinks it’s fun to solve complex lines of code and watch The Hobbit ten times over while quoting each dwarf in low, gruffly accents. The girl who thinks drinking wine with cheese cut in cubes tastes better because _it just seems fancier that way. _

She’s not Laurel. Not sleek pants suits and perfectly manicured hair. Not perfectly poised and elegant and graceful.

She’s stupid fracking Felicity Smoak, and the thought hits her so hard and so fast that for a second she’s seven years old again and her father is walking out the door – she’s twenty and her boyfriend is yelling and screaming, calling her worthless and pathetic and she’s shrinking down, down, down until all she can do is melt away.

Felicity takes in another staggering breath, her heart thumping wildly as she stares unseeingly at her small pad of panda bear sticky notes. She doesn’t notice herself sinking into her chair, or the way her eyes fog over in a haze, and she clenches her hand into a fist so tight that her nails draw blood.

It’s only when the sharp click clack of heels against tile sounds throughout the office that Felicity is pulled from her stupor, and it’s the soft swish of Laurel’s brown hair that she sees flashing as the elevator dings closed.

Oliver turns, then, a small smile spread across his face and it’s that expression – that lilt of his lips – that pulls the first tear from Felicity’s eyes. She swats it away quickly, offering Oliver a bright smile when his gaze falls to her. He returns it, the grin reaching his eyes, before making his way back to his desk.

She buries her face in her hands, her palm pressing into her eyes, and when she hears Oliver’s office door shut, she locks herself in the bathroom until lunch.

***

Felicity’s running a search on their criminal of the week when Oliver drops from the salmon ladder and heads to the showers. It’s odd, she thinks, because normally it’s a frustrated Digg and her own sleepy self that has to convince Oliver to take a break and _maybe eat, I don’t know, a plum or something? _

But he’s showered, and putting on a dress shirt that is definitely _not _meant to fit under his leathers.

“Got a date?”

Digg’s expression is bored, but his voice is amused. Felicity freezes, waiting for an answer.

Had he and Laurel finally decided to take things further?

She doesn’t want to hang around to find out, but then Oliver is turning, his gaze catching hers, and it takes everything in her to not get up and dart from the room. She must look frazzled, because Oliver moves towards her with a tight frown on his lips, completely ignoring Digg. It’s only when he’s crouched in front of her, his hands wrapped firmly around her own, that she realizes he’s there.

“Felicity,” his voice is fuzzy, almost like it’s a room away. “Fe-li-ci-ty. _What_ is going on with you?”

She’s about to let it all out – about to tell Oliver everything because she feels so alone and she _can’t do this anymore. _

But then she hears a phone ding, and the lit-up screen of Oliver’s phone catches her eyes.

_Laurel._

She smiles then, lips so tight they’re almost white.

The “nothing” that ghosts past her lips is shaky, and Oliver’s expression goes from confused to worried.

“Felicity - ,”

“I’m fine, really. Think I’m gettin’ sick is all.”

It takes three more excuses and an empty threat to lock Oliver out of the database before he goes on his date.

_It’s not a date_, he argues. _I’m helping her with a case at CNRI._

Digg gives her a mixed look – half knowing and half confused. She brushes it off with a shrug and goes back to work.

When Felicity arrives to work the next day, it’s to find a small basket of flu remedies, tissues, and a giant tub of her favorite soup. She glances up at Oliver, warmth filling her for the first time in weeks, and the smile he gives her from his desk is enough.

***

Felicity doesn’t run into him at all for days. She thinks she’s in the clear – maybe he was just passing through and wanted to toy with her – and for the first time in weeks she has a good day. Oliver’s in a joking mood for some reason, poking her side when she doesn’t move from in front of the screen and letting out a full belly laugh when one her famed accidental double-entendres slip past her lips.

Everything feels normal, almost, and it’s that feeling that Felicity faults herself for letting her guard down.

She’s staring out her window that evening, her chest all warm and fuzzy as her eyes dance over the strands of Christmas lights that Starling has draped around every tree in the vicinity. She may be Jewish, but the decorations that come with the Holidays always leaves her feeling a little giddy inside and for a second, there’s only the brisk air and the smell of her hot cocoa and the brush of her fuzzy socks against the thread of her carpet.

It’s only when her eyes fall onto the small, beat-up blue Volkswagen wedged in the corner of her lot that she feels her blood run cold.

Felicity’s mug of hot cocoa crashes to the ground as she backs away from the window, chest clenching as her back slams into the wall. Her breaths are shallow, her vision blurred, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut and dig her nails into her thighs to regain any sense of sanity because _he’s here, he’s here, he’s here. _

She can hear someone – a whimper – and it’s seconds before she realizes that the pathetic noises are coming from her.

She lunges forward, swiping her curtains closed before grabbing her laptop and dropping beside her bed. Her fingers fly frantically over the keyboard, her goal of reviewing the security footage the only thing keeping her sane.

That sanity starts to fade quickly, though, when she sees James’s car pull into frame. That had been five and a half hours ago.

He hasn’t left the car since.

Felicity breaks. She pushes the palms of her hand into her eyes, furiously trying to stop the tears, and her chest burns as she continues to hyperventilate. She’s reaching for her phone in an instant, her fingers dialing the only person she wants without her thinking.

Each ring permeates the stale air, and Felicity wants to gag when the call cuts almost immediately. She pulls her knees up to her chest, shoving her head against them, body overtaken with tremors. It’s only a matter of time until James comes up.

She needs to do something, she knows that.

Her body, unfortunately, doesn’t.

A sharp ding sounds through the room, and Felicity lets out a noise that’s more of a sob than a yelp.

_O: At CNRI, can’t talk right now. Text?_

All Felicity can do is stare. She’s already beyond petrified, and every movement she makes booms throughout the room like a beacon calling James to her. She tucks her head back into her knees, biting against the fabric of her pajama pants in an attempt to muffle her whimpers.

The ring from another text has her curling more in on herself, and it’s only when she hears a chime going off over and over again that she finally registers Oliver’s ringtone and picks up.

“Felicity?”

His voice is quiet, calm even. Felicity almost misses the concern and worry that’s heavily laced in his tone.

“_Oliver,”_ she manages to gasp out in a strangled whimper, her voice catching in her throat.

“Felicity, what’s - ,”

“Oliver, I - ,”

“Ollie?”

_Laurel._

Felicity draws in a breath, her mind clearing as she takes in the sound of the female voice. Laurel, he’s with Laurel.

Felicity shakes her head, her palm pressing against her mouth. She can’t do this to Oliver – can’t rope him into her problems that she had only gotten into because she had been young and stupid and in love. She can’t do that to Oliver, not when he is finally, _finally _happy.

If she ever had to choose between her emotional wellbeing and his, she’d choose his. Always.

It’s with that thought that she draws in a ragged breath.

“_Felici - ,”_

“I- I’m fine,” Felicity stammers out, wincing at the tremors in her voice. “It’s n-nothing, butt dial, I didn’t – I didn’t mean, I’m sorry,” Felicity chokes out each word, tears running steadily down her face.

“I didn’t mean to b-bother – I-It’s nothing, m’fine,” Felicity’s shaking so hard she doesn’t even know if she’s stringing together anything coherent.

The phone drops from Felicity’s hand onto her bed when she hears a bang against her wall – the tremors taking over her body as she covers her ears with both hands. She can barely make out Oliver’s voice filtering through the disregarded phone but it’s finally gotten too much.

She can’t take it.

Her breathing picks up and she sinks further into the floor, drawing her legs tight to her chest. She can’t breathe, she can’t breathe, _God, she can’t breathe._

A sob rips through her body, then another, and all of a sudden everything that’s built up over the last few weeks comes pouring out. She’s gasping for air, her hands clawing at her arms. She wants it to stop – wants it all to end – she can’t _take it anymore._

Another tremor rips through her body, tearing through her chest and she lets out a guttural, heart-wrenching sob and then strong arms are around her, a gentle hand pulling her into a wiry, rockhard chest.

_Oliver._

She curls in on him, her fingers grasping at his shirt like a lifeline, and Oliver pulls her tightly to him, his arms and legs locked firmly around her like a fortress. He has her engulfed in him, holding her so securely and so fiercely that she finally, _finally _feels like she might be okay.

Felicity presses her face into the crook of his neck, seeking the warmth of his skin and the thrum of his heartbeat. She can feel the vibration of his chest and the sound of his voice.

She knows he’s saying something, and even though she can’t quite make out what it is, it’s enough.

His fingers are running through her hair, his other hand pressing her firmly to his body. She’s starting to come to, and can feel it when his lips brush against her hair as he murmurs words of comfort.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, Felicity. I’m here, sweetheart, I’ve got you. I’m here. _You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay. _

There’s a waver in his voice as it drifts off into a whisper, and his grip tightens on her as she shifts in his arms. She doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting like this – how long it had taken Oliver to get to her, but she doesn’t care.

Her breath is starting to even out, and her body feels heavy as she sags against Oliver. He doesn’t stop his gentle rocking – doesn’t stop pressing his lips against her hair as if it’s the only thing keeping them rooted to this Earth.

“Felicity,” he says gently, his voice the softest she’s ever heard it. “Sweetheart please, you’re scaring me.”

It’s the tremble in his voice that pulls her from her haze.

She brings her hand up to finger the material of the dark dress shirt he’s wearing, and it’s with a pang of guilt that she remembers he was with Laurel.

Oliver’s grip tightens around her, and she realizes that she’d spoken out loud.

“M’sorry -,’

“Feli - ,” Oliver shakes his head but Felicity continues, using what little strength she has left.

“M’sorry for ruining night,” she mumbles into his chest, and even though she hates herself for it, she feels her eyes prickling with tears. “M’sorry for making you choo -,”

Oliver pulls her face enough away from his chest just enough so that he can see her. His hands gently caress the sides of her face, his thumb brushing away her tears.

“Felicity,” he breathes. His voice is so vulnerable – so raw – and Felicity finally takes in his red rimmed eyes and splotchy face.

She reaches a hand up to his face, her fingers brushing against his cheek.

“You were crying,” she breathes, head tilted in confusion.

Oliver grasps her hand in his, locking his gaze firmly with her own.

“Felicity,” he starts again, voice stronger than before. “Felicity, sweetheart, there was never a choice.”

Felicity’s confused, but she’s too tired to formulate any sort of reaction. Instead, she stares at him, eyes so wide with trust and tears that Oliver’s pressing his face into her hair.

“It’s you, it’s you, it’s always been you, Felicity.”

His words are barely a whisper, and Felicity’s sure Oliver hadn’t meant to let them slip out – hadn’t meant for her to hear them. Her body floods with warmth, spreading down to her toes, and for this moment, she allows herself to believe that he loves her.

“I do.”

Felicity pulls back slightly, eyes squinting open and head tilted in question.

“What?” She shakes her head, “Laure - ,”

“Is just a friend.”

“M’sorry - ,”

“No.” Oliver’s voice is firm as he draws away from her. “No apologies. You were in trouble – you _are _in trouble. Felicity,” he sighs, lips turning into a frown. “I’m here for you. _Always. _No matter what. Whatever is going on, whatever _this _is, we’ll figure it out - ,”

“But –,”

“_I love you.” _Oliver chokes out, his eyes desperate and pleading. “I’ve loved you every day that I’ve known you.”

Felicity doesn’t really know what happens next. One second she’s seeing Oliver – really seeing him, as if for the first time. But then she’s kissing him, her lips slanting over his as he pulls her into him so tightly that they meld into one. She can taste the saltiness of her tears against the backdrop of Oliver’s lips – can feel the way his chest vibrates as he lets out a deep sigh. The kiss isn’t desperate – it’s not hot and heavy and full of intensity.

It’s so much more.

It’s forever.

It’s safety.

It’s comfort.

It’s _home._

They pull away, chests rising and falling with uneven breaths. Felicity is staring at Oliver, and Oliver is staring at Felicity, and the blue that Felicity had become so accustomed to seeing over computer screens and through the haze of steaming cups of coffee has finally become home.

She’ll be okay. She’s sure of it.

She brings her palm up to Oliver’s jaw, relishing in the way he presses his face into her grasp.

“I love you, too,” she whispers, her thumb grazing his lower lip. “I love you, too.”

***

Two days later, the vigilante sinks three arrows into the chest of a broadly built, golden-eyed man. The Arrow catches him just as he’s dragging a frightened and beaten brunette into the back alley of a club. He tries to give him a chance – tries to spare his life, but the man pulls his victim into a headlock so tight that he has no choice. It’s an arrow to his arm that has him releasing the girl. It’s an arrow to his foot that has him yelping in pain for good measure. 

The Arrow waits until the girl is gone – until she’s safe – before peeling off his hood and readying his bow.

Blue eyes lock with gold, and it’s with no mask and no remorse that Oliver Queen aims straight for the heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my dudes, let me know what you think!
> 
> Love you all!!


End file.
